“Don’t,” he warns, low enough to vibrate the floorboards.
I blink innocently. “Don’t what?”
He advances one step. Just one. Enough for the temperature in the room to drop five degrees.
“Silas.”
“Boone,” I answer, matching his tone because someone has to lighten this catastrophe before he pops a vein. “Buddy. Friend. Neighbor. Coworker. Trusted advisor?—”
He points at me. “Shut. Up.”
I grin. “Can’t. It’s genetic.”
His jaw ticks so hard I swear I hear enamel strain. His hands flex open and closed. He’s trying to decide which part of my body he’d most enjoy throttling first.
“I swear,” he grits out, “if you say one thing, one single thing, about what you just saw…”
“Oh, please,” I cut in. “It’s not like any of this is new territory. You, me, Caleb… we’ve done worse in places with less counter space.”
His expression curdles.
“That was different,” he snaps.
“Oh?” I lean back against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “Because this one actually matters?”
That hits.
I see it land behind his eyes. A punch he wasn’t braced for.
He looks away.
Which is how I know I’m right.
His hands brace on the counter, shoulders tight enough to snap.
“It won’t happen again,” he mutters.
I laugh.
Loud. Delighted. Can’t help it.
“Oh, man. You actually believe that, don’t you?”
He lifts his head, glaring knives at me. “It won’t.”
“Boone,” I say gently, as if he’s Sadie insisting gravity isn’t real, “you had your mouth between her thighs two minutes ago. You think that ship is sailing into the sunset without circling the harbor at least twelve more times?”
“Silas.”
I shrug. “Just an observation.”
His nostrils flare, classic Boone about to blow, but I see the panic beneath it. The guilt. The fear. Thethis is dangerous, and I can’t screw it upthat lives in his bones.
I soften my voice.
“You okay?”
“No,” he snaps. Then softer: “I don’t know.”
